July 19th – Corrosion in Armor: How I Survived the Wolf Inside Me

He’s Unsorted. Unabashed. Formal with his emotions. Unashamed. Vulnerable worn as a sash on thunderous days. Sport a badge of honor stained with the blood of Cain. What’s her name? Love lost. Lust loves to come in gangs. My father never asked if I’m okay. He told me he forgave me for what we brought, but he’ll never say. (Sorry). When I’m in pain, my language crosses barriers all the same. Rain forest. Brain blots. Lost in my badge of honor. Should I say, I’m sorry? I’m not to blame.

Fuck that motherfucker

Fuck that motherfucker

Fuck it. Flames.

Distraught and caught in daze. There are days I question, am I supposed to be gone? Hoping to holy father that I’m totally wrong. Rotary dial. Noticeable drama. Rusty robot. Corrosion in armor. Lunch with locusts. Emotional trauma. Bandages with no adhesive falling off of my stitches. I’m more than enraged, I’m sort of conflicted. Sort of insane. Hold me no longer. Aborting the mission. There are holy ghosts that I pray to. Prayers vanish. Displaced. I read Nietzsche and questioned myself. I read what she wrote me—- answer to questions dispelled. There’s a wolf inside you, with a sheep in its teeth. What’s yours will find you, and crush you to pieces. Find your heart indiscreetly, whispering that I love you. Distilled inner feelings. Take a shot of me and consume. Sometimes I want to be lowered inside a grave. Mausoleum adventures. Nausea and deflection. Hardly seen. I surrender, any parts of me I dismember. I believe God isn’t God if he’s hiding his face. Don’t deny me my faith. Close thy eyes then, sleep till forever. Crying in shapes. Not circles and ovals, more jagged edges and blades that scrape down my cheek bones when they fall into place. Tears become blood. Blood becomes rage. It’s what we sign our names in when we scream out our names when I’m inside of you, inside of your brain. Eye stare psychosomatic, why are we strange? Lie there so damaged, why do you push me away when I just want to stay? Why do I stay when there’s blood on my face? A lion pawing away flies that nick at the scrapes, blood on my hands, nothing to say, asking if someone else wants to dance in my place, Bach’s Chaconne, slow waltz into grace, I’ve had it to here, I’ve had it to space, satellite metal floating till it touches something to change, engaging in societal rituals just to escape, Jupiter ring hula hoop interlaced, interlaced, “Pale Fire” on the coffee table as Blade Runner plays, hiking alone up Olympus with a cane in my fist, never without format, never existed, a whisper that’ll forever persist

Published by Cristian Leonardo Gajardo

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